Unspoken
by humanveil
Summary: Done for the tumblr prompt: "kisses because everything hurts right now including being loved by you but you're also the only thing that makes it feel better." Science Bros.


Tony doesn't say anything when he opens the door.

He doesn't ask Bruce why he's here, he doesn't ask where he's been, and, despite the words sitting on the tip of his tongue, aching to be voiced, he doesn't ask why now, why not before.

He tells himself it doesn't matter. That the answers, if Bruce even has them, are of no use now.

He merely stares at the other man, unmoving, while one hand holds the door open. Part of him wants to close the small distance between them and throw himself against Bruce's solid frame; to bury his face in the crook of Bruce's neck and hold on so tightly they'll both have trouble breathing.

The other part wants to slam the door in his face and pretend he'd never been there at all.

Instead, he turns around without a word, leaving the door open as he walks further into his home. It's an invitation, of sorts. Not a warm welcoming, but permission for Bruce to follow if it's what he wants.

It's what he wants.

Tony hears the click of the door close, followed by the familiar patter of Bruce's step against the hardwood. A tiny warmth spreads throughout his chest, and he wills it away; as if simply wishing for something to happen will make it come true.

It's not that he's not happy to see Bruce. He is. It's just that it hurts to see him. The other man being here reminds him of every night he'd spent alone, of every time he'd wished for this very thing, of every mouthful of burning liquid he'd swallowed while listening to the dial tone.

Tony shakes he head softly, as if to rid himself of the thought, before speaking. There's a lot he wants to say, but he settles on a quiet, "It's not polite to knock on someone's door at midnight."

It's stupid, really. They both know that time doesn't matter much with them. He half expects Bruce to reply with a When have you ever slept before two?

What he gets, however, is a quietly whispered "Sorry."

It stops him in his tracks; the one word laced with so much more. So many unspoken things. Tony knows it isn't just sorry for coming so late. Knows that it's an apology for everything; for disappearing without a word, for not telling him where to find him, for not being here, for not coming back sooner.

He shakes his head again, this time in an attempt to rid himself of the bitter taste in his mouth. Bruce shouldn't have to be sorry for leaving; Tony knows he needs it, just as he has his own needs. It's something he's had to remind himself of, the words a bit like a mantra in his head; repeating over and over during every sleepless night spent alone.

He doesn't know how to reply, so he stays quiet and keeps walking until he reaches the living room. He drops down onto the couch, sinking into the soft pillows and sighing as he watches Bruce catch up, dropping the duffle bag he'd brought with him before moving to stand before Tony.

He's eyeing the couch, unsure of where to sit; unsure if it's okay to sit close. The look that flashes across his face seems to break something in Tony. He reaches out, fingers latching onto Bruce's sleeve, and tugs softly; a silent request.

It's all it takes to make the tension between them dissipate.

The stiff awkwardness disappears to something more familiar, something comforting, and Bruce takes his spot at Tony's side. Within seconds, Tony's mouth is searching for his, just short of desperate.

Bruce kisses him gently, lips moving across his slowly; an attempt to calm him. He lets his lips press soft kisses across Tony's mouth, his cheek, his forehead; lets them convey every emotion he can't quite articulate. He continues to press languid kisses against Tony's skin for a long while, each one accompanied by soft touches and whispered words of affection.

Tony loves it, preens under the attention. He leans into Bruce's embrace and lets himself be held, lets himself feel cared for. His life is still in shambles; there's still so many things he has to do, to take care of, but this makes it seem doable. This eases the almost unbearable pain he's been in, makes the ever-present guilt vanish for a short while.

This is what he lives for.


End file.
